En Garde!
by Mistress V
Summary: Who says everyday life aboard the *Enterprise* has to be boring? Christine Chapel is settling in and soon finds out she has more in common with her new crewmates than she ever imagined. Especially with the First Officer. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little piece of day to day life aboard the ship. Won't be very long. Rated K.

Copyright Mistress V 2009, etc. etc. etc. We all know who owns Trek.

En Garde! 1/?

by Mistress V

Christine Chapel hit the send button on her keyboard and closed out the communication from her mother. It was two weeks since the Risan debacle and messages of sympathy were still coming in. Thank goodness the engagement wasn't really a public one or else she'd never get out from under it.

The ship just entered orbit around Starbase 4 for a few days of official duty. The first delegates for the Babel conference would be arriving soon after they left, either by shuttle or during a stopover at their home world. McCoy was understandably apprehensive at the prospect of treating so many different species, so he'd ordered the staff to read up in advance on everything from space sickness to insomnia.

She paused, thinking. Ambassador Sarek would be coming aboard early, given the distance of the new colony from any pickup points. Dr. M'Benga was more than capable of handling any Vulcan health issues, but she was the best qualified nurse to assist so she decided to skim the visitor's dossiers, just to be safe. It was a quiet Friday late afternoon, the perfect time for such an activity. Her superior was off accompanying Kirk to the base so he could be briefed on the upcoming assignment.

The doors whooshed open a bit later and she looked up from her desk. Hikaru Sulu stood there, a grimace of pain on his face as he rubbed his right shoulder.

"Come on in, Sulu," she offered. "What have you done to yourself?"

The helmsman followed her to an examination cubicle and hopped up on the diagnostic bed. "My shoulder," he replied. "It's been hurting something awful the past few days. I thought I could work through it, but the pain's just getting worse. And I have some workouts scheduled, so this can't be hampering me."

"I see." Christine palpitated the joint, frowning. "Doctor?" she called.

"Now what, Sulu?" Dr. Warren Fiskess asked sourly. "I told you about not overusing that joint until it was completely healed." Then the physician sighed. "All right, tell us. What were you trying this time? A Romulan mace?"

"No, but do you know where I can get one? I've looked everywhere." Sulu warmed to his favorite topic. "I was working out my new mek'leth. A real beauty, too. Guess I kinda...over did it, huh?"

"That's an understatement. Look, man, I'm limiting you to nothing more exciting than trimming your plants in the arboretum for the next couple of days. I know this will put a dent into your usual swashbuckling activities, but if you don't rest that shoulder, you won't even be able hold onto the helm. That means complete rest. No swords, bayonets, lirpas, tridents. Nothing." The doctor depressed a hypospray into the inflamed muscle, then returned it to the man's side.

"Not even a slingshot?" Sulu tried, ever hopeful.

"Not even. Or else you can treat yourself next time."

"Boy, he's sure taking lessons from McCoy," the helmsman observed as he gave his joint a surreptitious rotation. "Ouch. Wonder what brought this on?"

"You're overcompensating for the weight," Christine replied matter of factly. "I've seen pictures of those Klingon weapons. This one has two separate extensions, not one, it probably feels odd in your in your hand. So you draw back at the elbow. Right?"

"Yeah, right! How'd you know that?" Sulu asked, surprised. He'd not had much interaction with the nurse before.

"I had the same problem when I was breaking a new bow. It didn't sit the same so I leaned back too much. My shoulder took a couple of weeks to get used to it. I had to follow my doctor's orders and rest it, too." She sighed humorously. "Of course I didn't. Thankfully, I recovered." She now mimed drawing back a bowstring. "As you can see."

"Bow? As in archery?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't a gift wrapper." Christine laughed and began putting away things. "You've been sprung, so you can run along but try to follow doctor's orders, OK?"

"Ms. Chapel," Sulu continued, "may I ask you some advice?"

"Sure, is it medical?"

"No, it's related to archery. You see, I also just got a set of antique samurai equipment, a replica of stuff used in the Kamakura Shogunate. For archery on horseback, actually. I thought I could write a holodeck program, except I'm not sure how it's used. I don't suppose you know anything about that, do you?"

"I might." Christine smiled. "I did historical re-enactments in my college days, though not from that particular era. I'd love to take a look at what you've bought yourself. But what made you pick archery on horseback? Didn't the samurai use more traditional methods?"

"I've been researching my family history," Sulu explained. "Now that I'm in Starfleet and all, trying to see where my lineage came from. There was a Yabusame captain in service, Hiroshi Sulu-san. Way back when. I guess weaponry's just in my genes."

"You know, I love watching swordplay, especially when it's done right. Call me a frustrated fencer wannabee." She picked up a hypospray and extended it theatrically. "En garde. I always wanted to learn how to fence with a dagger, like in those old vids."

"I can teach you easy. Let's say we swap lessons? And I'd also like to extend an invitation for you to come to the first meeting of the new ancient weapons club. Tomorrow night at 20:00." Sulu was grinning now. "It was the captain's idea, with Babel coming up and all."

"Ancient weapons? How ancient?" Christine had visions of early phase pistols.

"Everything from slingshots to old fashioned police special revolvers. Since we'll be ferrying so many different cultures, the captain thought it'd be a good idea if we learned about their means of defense You know, hand to hand stuff. As a precaution, of course. Security's planning to be there."

"Sounds interesting. Pencil me in." Maybe there were other archers on board. Christine hadn't really announced all of her hobbies, and she missed the activity.

"I'm hoping some of the visiting ambassadorial staff can give some informal lectures, too, maybe even demonstrate some of their own historical fighting implements."

"Watch out for the Andorians," Christine said. "That blade of theirs, descended from the ice mining tool? It's pretty darn lethal." Christine recalled the interesting discussion she'd had with Thava, the Andorian operative, about the history of the Imperial Guard.

"Will do. See you tomorrow night? "

"You will."

************

The next afternoon, Christine took the newest batch of seedlings, for Kaferian apple trees, from bioresearch and made the journey down to the arboretum. Commander Mitchel brought the seeds aboard and insisted a few plants be grown. He claimed the fruit was beyond delicious.

She found the plot of ground that belonged to the lab and got to work. All kinds of things were being grown in the area, each in its own uniquely controlled micro environment. It was a popular spot during the crew's off time.

"Hi, Ms. Chapel! Need some help?"

Christine looked up and saw Sulu on the path next to where she was working. "I wouldn't say no," she told the capable amateur botanist. "I don't have a clue about these, but the instructions are all here." She handed a PADD over. "Oh and by the way, please call me Christine when we're not working. Ms. Chapel just sounds so formal."

"Sure, Christine." Sulu sat down and swiftly skimmed through the material. "Keferian apples, huh? They're quick growers, and they're good eating. You ever have one?"

"Can't say that I have, but Commander Mitchell's been raving on about them." She sat back on her heels. "What do we do?"

"Hand me a trowel," Sulu instructed.

"Here you go."

"No, you thrust too quickly. Pull back and try again. Aim for my left side. You thrust, I'll parry."

"Are you speaking English?" Christine asked, puzzled.

Sulu burst out laughing. "I'm sorry. I kind of fence in my sleep, it's just second nature. I was teaching you how to fight with a dagger, like you said yesterday. Guess I kind of forgot myself." He took the gardening tool and began marking out rows proficiently. "I was telling you to strike while I defended."

"Oh." Christine mounded dirt around a plant. "I wouldn't mind learning, though. Just in case I ever run across an overly aggressive patient."

"Come on, then. These are all settled in." Sulu indicated the half dozen seedlings now safely transplanted. "Once you're good enough, I'll let you try my replica USMC Raider Stiletto. It's mighty fine."

They got up and moved onto the path where Sulu began teaching his companion the basics of dagger fighting. Christine was a quick learner and it wasn't long before the pair was dueling away quite happily.

"Prepare to surrender, my fairest maid!" Sulu shouted lustily. "I have you in my snares."

"Surrender? Never! Have a taste of this!"

Christine lunged forward and lost her balance, falling past her opponent onto the path below. A moment later she was on her hands and knees, eye level with a pair of canvas clad male legs. She let her gaze travel upward and was mortified to find the first officer staring down at her, one eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"Oh Mr. Spock, forgive me!" She didn't know what else to say. "What brings you here?" she continued brightly.

"I am about to see to my Vulcan plants," he replied crisply. "And you?" Sure enough, he was attired in work styled clothes and carried a basket that held tools, supplements and other gardening supplies.

"We finished planting those Keferian apples," she said, indicating the area behind her. "And then Mr. Sulu was showing me how to...er..."

"Fence, sir. With a dagger, only we were using these small shovels instead. We just got into it, I guess. It won't happen again," Sulu finished, equally ill at ease.

"There is no need to apologize. After all, this is a place of enjoyment and recreation for the crew's use. Although I might not recommend so...physical an activity here, lest the flora get smashed." Was there amusement in his tone?

"Say, Mr. Spock, could I come along and check out your plomeek vines? I know you were having some problems adjusting the controls here to replicate Vulcan. Maybe I can help." Sulu quickly changed from swashbuckler to agriculturalist.

"Certainly, I would appreciate your input." Spock paused and nodded at Christine. "Good day, Miss Chapel."

End of 1.

The school of archery on horseback that I mentioned was largely ceremonial in nature. Such warriors were held in high esteem. It is still demonstrated today in Japan and elsewhere.

Gary Mitchell loved Keferian apples in the TOS ep "Where No Man Has Gone Before" so why not here, too?

A mek'leth is a two-pronged Klingon sword, about half the size of a bat'leth. And there's indeed such a WW2-era (rare) military dagger as well, now an expensive collector's item


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers as in part 1.

Oh dear. The genie has escaped the bottle. This will go a bit more than the 2 chapters I planned, but won't be an epic, promise. OK, couple of premises here.

In the film, 'cupcake' man was not given a name (just appears as Burly Cadet #1). The actor who played him is Jason Matthew Smith, so for this series, I have given him the name and rank of Lt. Jason Smith and he is one of the team in charge of security. Pike recommended him to Kirk as a loyal and excellent officer (even if he's a little headstrong at times). He boxes (something he and my Kirk share in common), is always courteous to the ladies and is the picture of efficiency. (The girls sometimes call him muffin, short for stud muffin, when he's out of earshot).

The weapons to be described are very real ones or based on such. Vulcan words from the Vulcan dictionary.

For those who know my work, you know I love to throw in name games. There are several here, can you find the connections? (I'll tell at the end of the chapter).

******************

En Garde! 2/?

by Mistress V

"How you feeling, Sulu?" Christine asked as she poked her head into the therapy room.

"Fine!" he yelled over the bubbling hydro spa pool he was reclining in. "I tell you, this is the life."

"You decent?"

"For you? Of course." The helmsman grinned and held out his injured arm. "Thanks, Christine. You're a real pal."

She depressed a hypospray into the inflamed area. "Just doing my job," she reminded him. "I could have told you our little duel in the sun would cause this to flare up."

"How could I resist?" Sulu leaned back against the tub's rim and sighed. "At least I'll be OK for the meeting later. And thanks again for seeing to me." He nodded out the door. "I don't think I could have dealt with Flotsam and Jetsam out there."

"Pbbbt." Christine gave a dismissive purse of her lips. "Len's bark is worse than his bite, he just likes being grumpy. As for Warren, don't let him fool you. He only yells at you because he knows you're doing harm to yourself. He's coming to the meeting tonight, you know, and giving the presentation on injuries like you asked."

"What's he bringing? An M1A1 rocket launcher to scare away patients?" Sulu made a face but he knew the young doctor was really all right.

"Only if it blows bubbles. I don't think Warren has a mean bone in his body."

*****************

Christine was just getting her things together at the end of her shift when Pavel Chekov wandered in. He looked nervous.

"Hi, Ensign Chekov. What brings you here today?" she asked.

"Is---is Dr. Fiskess here?"

"Hi, Pav. Come on through, I have just the thing you need." The physician appeared and waved his patient into a treatment cubicle.

"Are you sure you can stimulate it enough in time?" Chekov's voice carried down the hall.

"Did I hear correctly? What the devil is he on about? Not another of his body building attempts?" Leonard McCoy said at Christine's elbow.

"Trust me, Len, I don't know. If I say hello to him, he turns bright red. He's terribly shy around women, even though he's dying to meet them." It was true. For all his bravado, the young man had his issues now and then.

"It'd help if he wasn't so shy when the situation actually presented itself."

"Oh come on, weren't you his age once?"

"Too long ago," McCoy muttered. "And I was never THAT innocent. Me, I was flirting with the nurses in the delivery room."

"Uh huh." Christine gave her boss a sidelong glance. "The only one who can get him out of his shell right now is Janice, and that's because she treats him like her annoying kid brother. So there's hope for our wonder boy yet. Look, I've gotta run..."

"Are you off to that cockamamie weapons club meeting?" McCoy's voice now rose a notch. "Silliest thing I ever heard. Ancient weapons on a starship, fer cryin' out loud! And how are we going to deal with the injuries? Cutlass lacerations, accidental limb amputations, bullet wounds! I'm a doctor, not a barber surgeon!"

"Relax. We'll make sure the troops are instructed on proper medical precautions."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Christine gave her boss a playful tweak on his left cheek. "Loosen up, Len. You're disturbing the patients."

But McCoy was not about to give up. "That's my right as CMO of this ship..." he began, but his words were lost on his departing head nurse.

*****************

"Chris? Hey wait up!" Christine turned to see Warren Fiskess sprinting to join her turbolift. "Thanks."

"So, what did you bring? I don't see anything that looks like a weapon." She herself had her archery carrier slung neatly over one shoulder.

"You underestimate what a weapon can be." The physician drew out a curious braided leather cord. It was divided into three segments and each had a round, ornately decorated wooden ball tied to one end. "This, my dear colleague, is a jan-u-wine South American boleadora, the same as all those gauchos use."

Christine examined the odd-looking object. "It looks like a glorified eskimo yo-yo. You didn't get that in Boston, did you?"

"I did. When I was interning at St. Eliza's, we had a visiting anesthesiologist from Buenos Aires, and he got me this as a thank you gift. It's a great conversation starter at parties....and after." He gave a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows.

The turbolift stopped to let on the first officer. "Bridge," he stated. "Good evening."

"Evening, sir," the pair mumbled in unison.

Spock looked curiously at the bag the nurse carried. "Is that your archery equipment, Lieutenant?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir. We're off to the weaponry club's first meeting."

"From what I have heard, it sounds like a popular destination this evening." He paused as the lift stopped on their requested deck. "Have an enjoyable time."

They wandered down the corridor along with, it seemed, half the off-duty personnel and then some The meeting would also be available via vidcam recording for anyone on duty that was interested in joining.

"Janice!" Christine waved at the blonde yeoman, who was sporting a rather large black belt around her off duty wear. "I didn't know you were going!"

Rand turned around, revealing a large antique pistol stuck under the leather. "Yo ho ho and a bottle of syntheholic rum," she giggled. "Have a look!"

"You the reincarnation of Anne Bonny?" Fiskess asked. "This looks like something out of a pirate chest."

"It should be, I got it in St. Augustine on vacation when I was a kid. But here's the twist." Rand took the weapon back and cocked the trigger. Water spurted out. "It's what I used to keep my brothers in line, but I figure someone here will know more about when and how it was really used."

"That''ll be Sulu."

The trio ran into a traffic jam that turned out to be a large table for check-in. Security staff were capably manning the formalities, which included taking details of any weapons that had not been previously registered to crew members, as well as ensuring all safety latches were secured. The formidable but friendly Lt. Jason Smith was overseeing things. He had a menacing sheathed machete slung across his back.

"Hi, Janice!" Pavel Chekov called out. Rand hurried over to say hello. The ensign was sporting a battered old fedora, an equally worn leather jacket and an ominous-looking (and well-used) bullwhip looped around one shoulder.

"Oh my God, who's he channeling, Indiana Jones?" Christine squinted. "I can't believe it. He looks like he has...stubble! A week's worth!"

"He should, I gave it to him this afternoon." Her co-worker smiled genially. "All in the line of duty."

Christine checked in with a security ensign who had a curious weighted net around his shoulders, much like a shawl. He explained it was part of the weaponry of a specialist Roman era gladiator called a retairius, who was based on a fisherman. What have I gotten myself into, she wondered.

She made her way inside and said hello to Scotty, who had his handsome, twisted handle claymore sword with him. The handle bore his clan's motto, "Amo". The engineer said he'd picked the blade up on his last visit home, a memento of glorious days past, and that it now decorated a wall in his quarters.

The meeting room was thronged with people and every conceivable weapon was represented. It was clear this was going to be a very popular club. Christine was just wondering if there were any other archers in the house when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Lieutenant Chapel?"

"Yes?" She looked her companion over, noting he had a traditional archery quiver full of ornately feathered arrows and a beautiful wooden bow, looking to date from medieval European times.

He extended a hand. "I'm Ensign Robert Jenkin from cargo, and I couldn't help but notice your equipment. There are some of us over there, care to join us?"

"Sure, I'd be glad to. Have we met?"

"Not exactly. You work Bridget O'Rourke now and then, don't you?"

"Oh, sure. You know her?" Christine and the Irish woman often worked on projects in bio research.

"Well.....I'm hoping to." The young man looked a little sheepish.

"Nice equipment yourself," she said, steering the conversation into more neutral territory. "It looks English. Late middle ages, if I guess?"

"Absolutely correct, ma'am. Guess you could say considering where I'm from, it was a given. My family lives in Nottingham, and among my relations there's been a priest, a constable, a banker, a felon, and a sergeant major in the Robin Hood Regiment of the British army." He rolled his eyes in amusement. "I'm the whole package, compressed into one."

Jenkin swiftly made introductions. Christine noted archery equipment from ancient Mongolia, present day Brazil, and the old Kansas plains in addition to modern, sophisticated competition gear. The group was soon engrossed in arrowspeak as they found a spot to sit. Up on the dais, Sulu was shouting into the microphone. "If we can take our seats, everyone? It's time to get started and there's a lot on our agenda!"

The doors opened once more to usher in a few late arrivals. Christine noticed Spock among them and was surprised to see he held what looked like a small crossbow. He recognized her and the group she sat with and made his way over. Before she could even think about it, he sat down next to her, nodding politely at the rest of the archery enthusiasts.

"OK, welcome everyone, to our first official meeting of the ancient weapons club, which, as you know, is a personal favorite topic of mine," Sulu continued. "I'd like to turn it over to Captain Kirk, who's also a bit of an aficionado. Sir?"

Kirk made his way up to the podium, his hand on the old-fashioned military sidearm that was slung across one hip.

"Good evening," he began.

End of 2, more to follow.

Jenkin translates (from Flemish and other languages of the region) to Little John or John the Little. The diminutive nickname of Robert in medieval England was often Robin. Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck, Sheriff of Nottingham, rob from the rich and give to the poor geddit? Even if he *is* a myth (supposedly).

There was such a group in the British army but it was renamed the Notts and Derbyshire Regiment in the 1990's.

Anne Bonny was a feisty female pirate of the old Caribbean, or so legend has it.

Warren Fiskess, a doctor from Boston who interned at St. Eliza's hospital, is a nod to Wayne Fiscus (played by Howie Mandell) of St. Eligus Hospital in Boston, also known as St. Elsewhere. No Squee! alert please, he, like Ensign Jenkin and others, are merely in the story for background color, along with all the weapons mentioned. Besides, a ship as big as the *Enterprise* SHOULD have three doctors (at least!).

Scotty belongs (I presume) to the Scott Clan, which hails from the borders region of Scotland. The clan's ancestral home is Branxholme Castle. The clan motto is indeed "Amo."

Flotsam and Jetsam are Ursula's henchmen in "The Little Mermaid."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers as in part 1. Kirk references his long ago ancestor, James 'Jimmy' Kirk, who features in my Hogan's Heroes crossovers "Down the Tunnel" and "A Soldier's Things".

En Garde! 3/?  
by Mistress V

Kirk drew out a handsome replica handgun and displayed it to appreciative oohs and ahhs from those present.

"This is one of the many types of sidearms issued to United States Army Air Corps senior personnel during our World War 2," he began. "Pilots had to carry them in case of being shot down over hostile territory... or even to quell an onboard disturbance. I'm not sure which model my ancestor, Captain 'Jimmy' Kirk flew with during his missions, but his diary tells me he carried one.

"Weaponry has always been the basis for protection and in time, it came to symbolize the military's strength. Any military's. It's hard to believe, but from man's first hesitant flights, we came to where we are today in the stars. Starfleet is founded on the basis of a strong military history, even though we are primarily a service of peace and exploration. Did you know that some early Terran astronauts were armed? I'm not sure what a bullet would do in space, but they were.

"You may ask why early defense corps used such unusual implements." Kirk gazed around the room and took in the wide variety of objects, from the simplest to the most sophisticated of its time. "It's all about teaching skills of precision and defense, of having excellent judgment and reflexes, of being ready for anything. Nowadays, the computers do much of that for us, though hand to hand combat is still required for everyone. I'm hoping that by using these more distant incarnations of our present day weaponry, you'll all come to appreciate what you can learn from them. I know I will. But now, to make certain we do it the right way, I'll turn things over to security. Lieutenant?"

"Thank you, sir." Lt. Jason Smith took the stand, brandishing a sharp, beautiful looking machete type blade attached to a polished hardwood hilt. "This is my friend the pinuti. I won it in a game of chance down at Earth Station Subic Bay when I was still a cadet. Its cousins were used to clear jungle growth but this baby's strictly for defense. In the past, the tip was sometimes coated with the poison of your choice: snake venom, plant sap, chemicals, to make your enemy's end come quicker. But the most common use was this."

In one quick movement, the brawny security chief had Sulu in his unyielding grasp, the blade a hairsbreadth from the man's exposed throat. Sulu looked suitably terrified, even though it was obvious the pair had rehearsed the action well. He was released a moment later and bowed to his opponent before taking his seat.

"And that," Smith continued as he nonchalantly replaced the weapon in its scabbard, "is something we will NEVER see, no matter where you're practicing. Even in fun. Is that clear? To do so means confiscating your property AND going on report. No exceptions." He paused, with a nod at Kirk. "Unless the captain orders it. And I, for one, hope that never has to happen."

Smith went on to explain safety protocols and outlined how each weapon would have to be fitted with the appropriate cautionary devices if necessary. He then turned the floor over to Dr. Fiskess, who went over safe usage in more detail and mentioned the more common injuries associated with such activity. He concluded by saying he HOPED the sickbay staff wouldn't be seeing ANY club members anytime soon. After that, each attendee stood up and gave a brief description of their weapon, its history and their interests. Christine was interested to hear that Spock's little cross bow, a mes-lipitah, fired not conventional arrows but a type of dagger. It had been used during pre-reform days, in rocky and close terrain where arrows weren't feasible.

The meeting then broke apart into small groups of interested participants. People wandered back and forth. Archery was a popular hobby and several novices came by to say they wanted to learn the basics. A computer technician offered to help write some holosuite programs so they could practice onboard. Christine was just looking over Spock's skillfully crafted hardwood crossbow when he was called to where Kirk and Mitchell were talking with Scotty. He apologized to the group and disappeared into the crowd.

Sulu was bouncing around between groups, the proverbial kid in the candy store thanks to his numerous interests. He joined the archers, eager to share news. "I just found out there's a great park down on the planet," he said excitedly. "It has lots of room and guess what? There's a weaponry section---where people can do archery, spear throwing, whatever. Can you believe it? Right here! Who's up for going down there tomorrow morning for some practice? After all, we don't leave orbit 'till the next afternoon."

Everyone agreed to the trip with gusto. Christine was about to accept when she remembered something. "I have a senior bio research meeting tomorrow morning, it includes lunch," she apologized. "Some visiting scholar, so I can't get out of it." Then she looked at Ensign Jenkin, her eyes mirthful. "But maybe you and Bridget can fill me in later?" she asked pointedly.

"We'd be happy to, ma'am," the young man sputtered, though he was obviously pleased at the idea.

"Perhaps we may avail ourselves of the facility after the meeting concludes, Lieutenant?" Spock had glided up soundlessly once more, something that positively unnerved Christine. "The sun does not set until well after 19:00 hours and it is the planet's spring. I am sure the group can give us an assessment of what to expect."

Christine nodded her assent, happy she'd get a crack at that amazing looking crossbow, the likes of which she'd never seen. The idea of Spock teaching her how to use it was not without its merit, either. The meeting drew to a close but it was clear the club was slated to be active indeed.

"Come have a drink?" Gary Mitchell asked as he joined the pair. "Jim's buying."

"Sure," Christine replied. To her surprise, Spock also accepted the invitation.

They made their way to the lounge but as luck had it, Kirk and Spock were summoned to the intercom almost as soon as they arrived. Mitchell ordered drinks for everyone, on the captain's tab, and found a quiet table near an observation window.

"How you doing?" he asked Christine. "I've been worried about you."

"Fine, Gary. Really. The Starfleet counselor said it would take time. She actually encouraged me to get out more, so here I am. That and to laugh as often as I can, over whatever seems funny."

"Always good advice. Not to go all serious on you, but how was the exam?" The promotions examination had recently been given, with results due out after the Babel assignment.

She shrugged. "Who's to say? I thought it was all right. I know the captain said I didn't need to take it, but I wanted to do my part. That way it'll seem more tangible if I pass."

"If? How about when? You'll do fine, Lieutenant COMMANDER Chapel. I can feel it. Now, back to humor. I have a special request, my lady, and only you can take care of it." Mitchell's smile became mischievous.

"Don't ask me to rob from the rich and give to the poor," she said. "That's Ensign Jenkin's job."

"Nope, something even more daring." Mitchell produced a Keferian apple and placed it neatly atop his head. "If you would do the honors?"

Christine started laughing so hard she was afraid she'd choke on her drink. For a few minutes, her shoulders shook and she wiped at her streaming eyes.

"What's so funny?" Kirk asked as he and Spock sat down.

"It would appear the commander is attempting to perpetrate the old William Tell fable," Spock observed sagely. "Much the same as the legend of George Washington and the cherry tree, Robin Hood and his Merry Men, the Dutch boy and the leaking dike, or..."

"We get it, Spock," Kirk told him.

"Who cares if it's a myth?" Mitchell countered. "I still think she can do it."

"Not in a million years." Christine took the fruit from his head and played with it in her hands. "Unless you want some cranial surgery. This may be called an apple but it's much more pulpy than the ones we know. And the seed is like a mango's, big and dense. An arrow would deflect off it, with some pretty nasty possibilities. "

"Well, how about some fancy arrow stuff, like Kevin Costner did in the film?" Mitchell persisted.

"That was computer generated."

"Oh."

"Any other bright ideas, Gary?" Kirk asked his friend.

"I'll have to get back to you." Mitchell raised a glass. "To merry men, and women."

"I'll drink to that one," Christine said with a smile.

A moment later, Spock touched his glass to hers, his eyebrow raised in agreement.

End of 3.

There is such a blade as described, it was used in the Philippines and Indonesia, mostly. WW2 pilots were issued any one of several types of sidearms (depends on where you were based). And yes, the Soyuz escape pod does indeed have conventional weaponry on board. The idea is that if the capsule lands in hostile territory (a crocodile infested swamp OR somewhere they're not particularly welcome), a gun would be useful.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimers as in chapter 1. Almost done.

En Garde! 4/?

by Mistress V

Leonard McCoy looked at his reflection and smiled. So what if half the ship was running around, blabbing on about ancient weapons? It was all tomfoolery, really. The only place for such nonsense was in the privacy of one's own personal life. A relic, a reminder. Not something to be bandied about in public.

This would only see his own private light of day, and the only use it would get was to cut some mint leaves for the occasional julep. Of course, if the situation arose, it could be used for defense but really was no match for today's blasts. He gave the blade one last swipe and held it at arm's length, then he slashed the air purposefully, severing the last ties with his past.

"Len?"

McCoy scrambled to hide the object under the desk. Too late. His head nurse strode in and planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips.

"What was that I saw?" she demanded, a smile hiding behind her sternness.

He got up and braced his own hands on the desk. "None of your business, Missy. Don't you have a meeting to go to?" he scowled.

"Yes, and it's the same one you're required to attend, DOCTOR. That's why I'm here. You're almost late." Her eyes stared his down, willing him to buckle.

"Oh for Pete's sake." McCoy knew better than to argue here. He reached down and produced what he'd tried to hide.

"Len! That's a Civil War era Bowie knife! It's beautiful!" Christine examined the object admiringly. "Where'd you get it? Looks like a Confederate model. These are pretty rare."

"How come you know so much about old stuff like this?" he countered, furious that his hypocritical secret was out.

"I'm from St. Louis, remember? Missouri, the fence-sitting state? We supplied troops to both sides of the hostilities and every possible ne'er' do well, bushwhacker and soldier of fortune passed through my home town." She handed the knife back to her boss. "Relax. I saw one at the state museum when I was in school. I won't tell a soul. IF you promise to teach me how to use it. Now come along, we need to get a move on."

"You drive a hard bargain, Chris." McCoy cracked a smile.

"I have a good teacher," she replied.

*************

For once in her professional career, Christine was sad to have a meeting end. The visiting scholar was anything but boring. Dr. Leysik, a Caldonian immunologist, brought along his species' love of pure research to the table. It was contagious, just as the plagues his people's latest breakthroughs would help eradicate. The scientist promised many more cooperative dialogs even as he was hurrying to make his transport.

She raced to her own quarters and transformed herself from esteemed bioresearcher to woman on shore leave. Unfortunately, she had also pulled 'on leave/on call' duty for the evening, so she stowed away some more resort-y attire for that. Satisfied with her appearance, she picked up her archery bag and made her way to the spacedock exit.

"Gonna shoot some arrows, ma'am?" Lt. Smith asked as he checked her out for leave.

"I hope so!"

"The park's great, everything you could need. My men and I were down there earlier, running the fitness course. Have a good time."

"I will. Oh and I'm on all this evening, so if anything happens down there, I'll be planet side with Dr. M'Benga." She patted the medical bag she also carried.

"Will do, ma'am. I'm hoping we don't have to, though."

"Me, too."

************

Spock was waiting at the spacedock transport station. He was also attired in sporting attire, the kind that was meant not to get caught up in equipment like bowstrings. He gave Christine's silhouette an appreciatively Vulcan once over.

"We are transporting directly to the park entrance," he informed her. "I have reserved us one of the appropriate areas for our use." He indicated the crossbow, safe in its carrier.

"Great. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this!"

The pair materialized just outside the park gates. They were soon met by the departing "Enterprise* archers, who'd just concluded a great morning's sport.

"It's amazing," Sulu enthused, even as he was packing up his bags. "I'd stay to tell you more but there's a fencing club at the base and their top swordsman has offered me a match. And then I'm going on a night dive to view the phosphorescent coral fields. See you later!"

"I'm tired just from listening to him. Where does he get his energy? And can I buy some?" Christine commented. Then she noticed some familiar faces. "Hi there, Bridget. And Robert. May I call you that, seeing we're off duty?"

"Of course! We've had a wonderful time." Jenkin turned to his companion. "But Bridget here, well, she might need your services."

"What's up?" Christine asked, ever the health professional.

The Irish girl held out her hand, which had an angry set of blisters in all the right places. Christine quickly treated the beginner's archery injury while Spock was briefed on the whys and wheres of the facility.

"Have someone check it out when you get back on board," she instructed. But she knew that would be hours from now.

"We're going to the water park now, but when we get back I'll go straight to sickbay," Bridget assured her sometimes co-worker She then took Jenkin's offered arm and they wandered towards the nearby base with the rest of the group.

"Shall we likewise avail ourselves of the facilities?" Spock asked a moment later. Like Christine, he, too, was taking in the park's splendid and diverse views.

"Let's go! This will be so worth it!"

They set off down a well-marked path, which wove through forested glens, open fields, manicured gardens, calm ponds, and playing areas of every kind. More than half the ship might have been there but the facility's size and planning meant they were absorbed without the slightest bit of difficulty. In due time, they reached the weaponry section and found their designated area.

"Real straw bales, and at the right distances!" Christine ran her hand over the targets admiringly. "I haven't seen these in about forever. I've been making do in my quarters but it hasn't been easy."

"How have you been shooting?" Spock asked as he unpacked his equipment.

"Ha. I asked the quartermaster for straw and he looked at me like I'd requested a dodo bird. I have some targets set up in and use bunt suction styled arrows, but the distance is about from here to there. I am sooo out of practice!" She took out a safety device and held it up." Can you help me with this? And please, no Amazon jokes."

Spock proficiently buckled her into the protective chest covering. He knew precisely what she referred to but assured himself such a self-mutilation had not happened here. Not at all. "I believe you are good to go," he pronounced.

"Not quite." Christine pulled a decorated leather bracer onto her bow arm and fitted a sleek glove on her draw hand. "Now I'm ready." She proficiently picked up a colorfully feathered arrow, complete with safety tip, positioned it and drew back the bowstring.

And watched, sadly, as it sailed far wide of the intended target. She sighed. Out of practice wasn't even close.

***********

After about an hour of standard archery, with Spock trying her longbow and finding it quite acceptable, they turned to the Vulcan crossbow. Christine watched with interest as he fitted a safety tipped model dagger into the weapon, explaining how it was developed to deter the vicious creatures that inhabited the area of Vulcan called The Forge. He fired off several shots, but he, too, missed his mark, though they at least landed within the target's concentric circles.

"Would you like to try now?" he asked.

"Would I!" Christine was practically salivating. She took the offered weapon, trying not to notice the Vulcan's close proximity from behind as he adjusted things. His arms were around her, so to speak, and if she turned her head slightly, their cheeks would be touching.

"Draw back," he instructed.

Christine did as she was told, though she became even more conscious of the man leaning into her. His body was warm. No. Hot.

"Now release. But be careful of the---"

Spock's words were lost in the weapon's surprisingly strong kick. Christine buckled and the two tumbled backwards, ending up flat on their collective posteriors.

"Not bad," Spock eventually said, pointing at the target. And indeed, Christine's shot had hit the blue ring. "With some practice, you could become quite proficient."

"Once I get used to that recoil," she muttered. "Ouch." She rubbed at her elbow.

"Are you all right?" Spock took the arm in his hands and began massaging it. He made no move to get up, and neither did she.

"I'll be fine. Thanks."

But instead of drawing away, Christine found herself looking at him. His expression was open, miles away from the man she saw in command mode most days. In those eyes she saw curiosity...and desire. A very different scene slid across her mind. One of sun-dappled bare skin, kisses, sighs and enjoyment under the shady trees that surrounded them. Her breath caught as she felt his hand caress the back of her neck. His eyebrow raised, as if asking, what shall we do next? And then he leaned in closer.

"Base communication to Commander Spock? Come in!"

Spock's head snapped back and he scrambled to find his communicator. "Spock here?" he all but croaked.

"The Vulcan contingent's transport has arrived at base, sir. I was told to inform you."

"Very well, thank you. Spock out."

Christine was already on her feet, packing up her equipment. "We'd better hurry, I'm sure your father would like to see you as soon as possible," she said, not daring to look him in the eye. The sexy mood had evaporated, like a bottle of fine champagne suddenly gone flat.

"There are formalities even Vulcan delegations must complete. I am equally certain we have plenty of time in which to make our way back." His hands caught the small of her back and pulled her close. "Unless you are in some great hurry yourself?"

"Er...not exactly."

"That is...good."

************

Spock was surprised to see a familiar figure at the park's gate "It is my father," he declared.

"What's he doing here?" Christine was certain the older man would see every trace of the increasingly passionate kisses they'd been engaged in just now. It was part of the radar unique to a parent.

"I do not know." They made their way to where Sarek was waiting for them. "Father, it is good to see you," Spock said after they'd exchanged the traditional greeting. "And may I present my shipmate, Lt. Christine Chapel, our head nurse and senior bioresearch officer."

"I am honored to meet you, Lt. Chapel. And I am sorry to hear of your loss."

"As am I, sir, of yours," Christine replied graciously.

"What brings you here, Father? Is there a problem?"

"Not at all. I was pleased to be out walking in the fresh air after so long a journey, and thought I would meet you. It appears you have been engaging in a most enjoyable sport, that of archery." Sarek's eyes were sharp.

"Yes, your son was teaching me how to use a traditional Vulcan crossbow," Christine quickly replied, wondering what other sports he might mention.

"Splendid. I myself taught him to use it when he was but six years old." Sarek paused, looking around him at the park's wide expanse. "I find myself thirsty from the artificial atmosphere of our transport. Perhaps you both might accompany me for a refreshing beverage?"

'I--" Christine began, feeling she was intruding. Surely Sarek was only being polite. Then she noticed Spock's expression.

'I'd be delighted," she said.

End of 4.

Missouri did support both sides (so to speak) in the U.S. Civil War. The weapon I describe existed, it was made from cut down Confederate swords and is quite rare (and pricey) if found in its original state. My neighbor's husband, the weapons king, helped me select it.

It was said that the race of women warriors known as the Amazons cut off their breast nearest the bowstring, so not to impede their archery. Fortunately, it's just one of those myths.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimers as in part 1.

En Garde! 5/5

by Mistress V

It was night on the planet, a balmy spring evening that drew out throngs of base personnel, visiting space crews and inhabitants alike. From her vantage point in the town's main plaza, Christine allowed herself the luxury of dangling her feet in the large, merrily splashing fountain. The native water was reputed to have healing properties and felt like a fine sparkling wine on her skin. Around her, people wandered by, enjoying the magic unique to a nice evening anywhere.

She checked the time. Only 23:45? That meant the real fun was just about to start. She was on call until 02:00, after which Security took over planetside duties. This was regardless of what medical emergencies might arise, those usually being, er, celebration related. Unfortunately, that had already started.

They'd just finished a congenial, lingering meal with some of the base medical staff when the call came in. A bar fight that got out of control, that was nothing new, but it was between two different Federation crews. And in attempting to break up the melee before base security got wind of things, Dr. Warren Fiskess, who'd been out for an evening's entertainment, got beaned on his unsuspecting noggin by a flying ensign. Dr. M'Benga hurried off to tend to the legions of wounded after declining her offer of help. The bar in question, it turned out, was of the unsavory variety, so a couple of male med staff had beamed down with Lt. Smith, who was hopping mad by this time. Reinforcements soon arrived. Back aboard, Leonard McCoy was sourly patching up the inevitable cuts and bruises and probably threatening to throw the whole lot into the brig.

No one wanted to alert the Captain, who was at dinner with the Commodore, Sarek and Spock and the rest of the base brass. In fact, no one wanted a word of the incident to get out at all, because that meant shore leave at Babel, which had a slew of offerings that appealed to every possible taste, would be severely curtailed if not withdrawn altogether. Kirk's temper wasn't something you wanted to cross. Christine briefly considered calling Gary Mitchell, then decided against it. Despite becoming friendly with the commander (in a distinctly non-romantic way, unlike his other female interactions) and trusting him, there was no telling if Kirk was within earshot, and that man's internal radar was as keen as any sensor array.

Her communicator beeped. "Chapel here?" she replied, idly swirling her feet through the splashing water.

"This is Kirk. We have a medical situation and I can't raise any doctors! Where are you?" he barked.

She swiftly gave her location but before anything else could be said, Kirk signed off. Oh no. Christine quickly called over to M'Benga and asked him to alert the security team that fecal matter was likely about to hit the wind machine. From the sounds of her companion's grunting reply, the detritus at the bar was still being sorted through.

"Chris! Thank goodness!" Gary Mitchell's voice cut through her speculation.

Christine jumped to her feet and saw Kirk and Mitchell carrying an obviously distressed Nyota Uhura between them, chair-style. Janice Rand brought up the rear. She was holding an extra pair of shoes in one hand, her expression concerned.

"Let's sit her down," Christine ordered as she got out her scanner.

"NO!" Nyota gasped, biting her lip.

"OK, lay her onto the grass there." She watched as the men set their injured companion onto the lawn, peculiarly stomach down. Uhura manged to draw herself onto one elbow. "What happened? What's the nature of the injuries?"

Christine could make out a swollen, sprained looking ankle and an equally puffy wrist. There was what appeared to be a ring of bruises around the patent's other ankle, however. The combination of injuries was unusual and she wondered what else might be wrong. Uhura was clearly in a great deal of pain.

"Well?" she asked again while giving a hypospray of analgesic compound. "I can't treat someone if I don't know what to look for. How did this happen? Were you in an accident?" The others looked suspiciously fine to her.

"No." Janice Rand stepped forward now, embarrassed. "We were pole dancing..."

Christine's head snapped up. POLE dancing? She stared at the men incredulously, but before she could say anything, Rand continued. It turned out the poles in question were of the native variety and incorporated into a dance of skill. A pair of said poles were used to keep rhythm while dancers jumped in and out of the space between beats. Nyota had been doing quite well but wasn't quick enough at one point and the wood clipped an ankle as the sticks were closed by the musicians. This caused her to spin hard onto the other foot, which inverted under her. And that meant she fell backwards, breaking the fall with her wrist---the one she used on a daily basis.

"OK, I'll start stabilizing the injuries." Christine looked down at her charge. "I'm afraid that wrist is broken, Lieutenant, but Dr. McCoy will have it fixed up soon enough. I'm not sure about your duties, though."

"Just make it stop hurting." Nyota closed her eyes a moment, letting the pain med do its job. Then she motioned for Christine to lean closer and whispered something.

"Oh. Well, that IS going to present a problem. Let me get hold of my boss so he's ready. How's that?" she asked.

"Fine." Nyota was sounding better, which meant the drugs were kicking in.

"Where is everyone?" Kirk's voice was raising exponentially with each word uttered. "Bones won't say anything to me except he's busy. What with? Most of the crew is down here! Is there an outbreak of boredom on the ship?"

"Just a minute, sir." Christine called up to McCoy, outlining the fact the patient was the ship's communications officer and had a possible fractured tailbone into the bargain.

"Give me that," Kirk demanded when she finished. "Bones, come IN? What the devil's going on up there? What do you mean, a few unexpected injuries? Where are the rest of your doctors?" He paused, his expression turning incredulous. "One's a *patient*? That's it, I'm beaming right up with the casualty. Kirk out."

"Jim?" Mitchell held up his own communicator. "It's for you."

****************

Once the ensuing frenzy died down, Christine took up her post once more. She knew a major chewing out for the lot of them was on the agenda for tomorrow, no doubt about it. Kirk had been summoned to the base security office along with the captain of the visiting Federation supply ship---the same one he'd just had dinner with. M'Benga was finishing up with the last of the civilian injuries, and there were plenty of those, including a lovely shiner the bartender now had. Gary Mitchell was back on board, roasting the offending parties over a plasma fire. McCoy reported their colleague's head injury wasn't serious, just enough to confine him to sickbay overnight, and that Uhura was resting comfortably.

But other crewmembers were innocent of the dust up so were still enjoying their leave. For them, Christine decided to remain on the planet. She looked at the still-splashing fountain and enjoyed the peacefulness. Tomorrow would come quickly enough. Heck, it WAS tomorrow. Security had just taken over.

"May I join you?" a familiar voice asked. A moment later, Spock sat down beside her on the fountain's smooth mosaic ledge.

"Sure. What's the latest status report?" With Kirk tied up in the aftermath of the brawl and Mitchell overseeing interrogations aboard, Spock was now the officer in charge on the planet. He still wore his dress uniform.

"The incident is still being gone over," he replied. "I suspect the captain will be at the base for some time."

"I'm sorry the visit with your father was interrupted."

"My father and his retinue will be traveling with us towards Babel, so there will be plenty of opportunities for us to continue our discussions." He looked at Christine. "He mentioned that he enjoyed our afternoon respite and would like to know more about your current research."

Christine was taken aback at this. "I'm flattered," she managed to say. "If he'd like to tour the labs, I'm sure that can be arranged." At this, she let a trace of humor slip into her tone. Spock was, after all, in charge of the bioresearch division as the ship's science officer.

"As am I." Spock glanced at his chronometer. "It is 02:45. Lt. Smith has informed me things are quiet here, with most of the crew back aboard. His team is patrolling the area without incident. Shall we return as well?"

"Yeah, I'm beat. And I'm *not* looking forward to the lecture we're all going to get, either," she grumbled.

"Such occurrences are an inevitable part of Starfleet duty," he replied philosophically. "To try to avoid them would be illogical." Spock helped his companion up.

Christine reached for her communicator but was stopped in mid-flip. "There is a particularly nice view of the plaza from the botanical gardens just there," Spock pointed out. "Would you care to join me for a leisurely stroll before our departure?"

*****************

With a yawn, Christine made her way out of the turbolift. Sure she was tired, but a good nurse always needed to check in on her patients.

Her head was still reeling form the day's events. Just when she'd been about to put the whole smoochfest under the trees down to spring fever, Spock had gone and laid another few major lip locks on her before they beamed back aboard. She'd wanted to say something but he only put a finger over her lips. The unspoken message was that there was chemistry, he was interested, she was interested, and both of them were willing to see if something would develop. Slowly. The memory of his kisses still lingered, like electric jolts singing up and down her body. She knew Spock would be wanting to talk with her more tomorrow. Or was that today?

The doors to sickbay opened and two security guards escorted a slightly injured crewman out. Whether to his quarters or to the brig she didn't know, but it was obvious this was being taken seriously. Dr. M'Benga was on duty and busily seeing to a half-dozen suspects. Several security personnel were present and standing guard. McCoy was catching 40 winks in his office, exhausted from everything. And Kirk was still planetside, from what she learned. Damage to the bar had been catastrophic.

"Hey doc," she asked Fiskess, who was awake and watching the ongoing show with interest. "How's that head of yours?"

"Still attached to my shoulders. Just." He snorted. "That's the last time I play peacemaker, though. From now on, those morons are on their own."

"What did you expect? You're a doctor, not a diplomat." She checked his vitals once more and moved on.

Nyota Uhura was also awake, having been comfortably set up in a bed that accommodated her unusual range of injuries. But that didn't mean it was easy. The woman was unsuccessfully trying to reach a glass of water.

"Here, allow me." Christine handed her patient the glass and held it while she sipped the beverage within. "How are you feeling?" She checked Uhura's chart, frowning. "I was afraid that tailbone might have been fractured, from what you described. It's not serious, they heal fast, but it can be, well, difficult to accommodate."

"I know." Uhura's tone was resigned. "I sit at my post all day, every day. The thought of that right now makes me want to scream. And I can't be on meds, they'd interfere with my concentration."

"With the Babel assignment, I agree, you need to be in full command of your facilities." Christine glanced at Uhura's equally injured wrist. "Can you manage with just one flipper?"

"That's easy. And Dr. McCoy, he did say Mr. Scott could come up with extra cushioning for my duty chair. I guess for the rest of the time, I'll just have to keep smiling. There is no way I'm getting into a wheelchair, not with all those diplomatic types swarming all over the ship. I need to be up and around." She sighed now. "Of all the freak accidents to have! No one will believe it, especially the tailbone, but what could I do? I was falling hard and had just broken my wrist. The floor was solid marble."

"I'm sure you're not the first strange injury there's been, and you certainly won't be the last."

Christine thought about all the possibilities from the ship's new club. She also wondered what Nyota knew about the recent developments. Spock had made it very clear the relationship he'd shared with the woman was on its very last legs when they'd started getting friendly, and that the parting of the ways was both logical and amicable. But Christine still felt uncomfortable about it.

Well, Nyota would bring the topic up if or when she wanted to, that was her prerogative. Best not to stir anything up needlessly. So she decided to change the subject as she administered another dose of pain meds. "Janice was telling me about that pole dance. That it's really hard but fun at the same time, and that you were doing a great job of it. When you're better, do you think you could teach me? I was thinking of joining the dance club. I bet they'd all like to learn."

Nyota smiled a bit woozily back at the nurse. "Yeah, why not? Sounds like fun." Then she yawned. "Sure am tired all of a sudden," she mumbled.

Christine adjusted the unusually placed coverings around the patient and made a last check of things. It was quiet, it was late, and she desperately needed some sleep.

Tomorrow could wait a little while longer, no matter what it might hold.

The End.

The dance I described has several variations but the most famous is the Filipino version, Tinikling, which is that country's national dance. Of course, there *is* another kind of pole dancing altogether (usually done IN the altogether), but that's not what happened here.

I worked out the series of injuries Nyota suffered with my orthopedist, it's a little unusual but entirely feasible. People fall in some pretty odd ways.


End file.
